a half pound of butter

This morning I attempted to make blueberry pudding cake, a recipe from Gourmet 2005. An old favorite; made it several times last summer with our overabundance of Michigan blueberries.

But this time I had two of my three little ones tottling around my feet. "Please can I help. Please can I help. Please can I help." and "da da da da da da da da da". I try regardless. But I should have known not to try something like mentally doubling the recipe while I was mommy-ing. 1/4 x 2= 1/2, 1 tsp. x 2= 2 tsp etc. - not great at the multiplying to begin with. You wouldn't think it's that hard, but alas, 'tis. Here's when I hit a speed bump. The phone rings. Caller ID reads MY MOTHER. I picked it up anyway. So now not only do I hear "Please can I help. Please can I help. Please can I help." and "da da da da da da", but "Aunt Renie said this and Aunt Renie said that." Then there's my second grade teacher in my head saying "1/8 tsp. salt x 2 = 1/4 tsp salt." Meanwhile, I'm trying to measure flour while the butter melts in the microwave. I'm mixing the wet ingredients, whisking the dry, taking the fruit off the heat, assembling the whole mess (which interestingly enough is the batter first in the baking dish, fruit on top - and the blueberries sink during the cooking process.)

So happy that I'm able to accomplish this task, I begin to cleanup, pick up the baby crawling around my feet, think about contructing some lunch for the three year old angel. Ten minutes pass and I need to use the microwave, (who's following along to this point and can guess what mistake I made?) so I open it up. Yep, a half pound of NOW MELTED butter still hanging out in there . Great! I wasn't even making this for myself. This was supposed to be a gift for an unsuspecting friend.

Don't know what you would have done. I actually consider pouring the butter over the top and mixing it all together real fast. But I've done this sort of thing lately and it's backfired. Like the time I forgot baking soda from a orange chicken batter and tried to sprinkle it on the top after the fact. P.S. Don't try that at home. Every third or fourth bite the family got a suspiciously funky tasting chicken bite. Just pretended like I had no idea why. "Huh. That's funny. It takes like a chemistry experiment? Huh."

I decide to let it bake all the way through, peering in every few minutes to see how its turning out. Maybe it'll be salvagable. Timer dings. I take the sucker out. It actually looks okay. But can I really give this to a friend without knowing if it tastes nasty? No, sir. Sheepishly, I cut out a corner and taste it. Pretty good. Whew. Not only does it taste okay, but I've created a new lowfat recipe for my arsenal. If only there weren't two eggs in it, I could call it fat free.

Now I must explain to my friend why a corner is missing from her cake. >Sigh< At least she's also a victim of mommy brain. She'll understand.